


Hawthorne v. Hollywood

by ChainSmokesPens



Category: Original Work
Genre: Court Case, Flash Fic, Urban Fantasy, Zombie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28571826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainSmokesPens/pseuds/ChainSmokesPens
Summary: Prompt: [WP] A zombie sues the movie industry for negative depiction of their kind
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	Hawthorne v. Hollywood

There were murmurs in the courtroom. The judge shuffled her papers as the prosecution team spoke in hushed tones. Every bench was crowded, save for the seating within the diameter of the prosecution. The folks couldn't seem to take the smell.

The judge donned her pince nez and read. "J. Hawthorne versus Hollywood. Mr. Hawthorne you want to sue the movie industry for their depiction of you kind, is that correct."

Hawthorne began to give an affirmative groan when his lawyer stopped him. "That is correct, your honor."

She squinted. "Am I to believe that you will be talking on behalf of your client?"

"Yes, your honor. Considering the damage to Mr. Hawthorne's throat, lungs, and jaw communication has become a challenge for him. He has given me permission to speak in his stead for the length of this case."

"Can you confirm this, Mr. Hawthorne? One groan for yes, two groans for no."

Hushed laughter was heard from the crowd. But, when Hawthorne opened his mouth to let out a bellowing groan, the laughter stop. The overtone was like thunder in the distance, while a slight his could be heard, likely air escaping his body.

"Very well, then."

Hawthorne sat as best as he could; the rigor mortis made it hard for him to bend his legs. His open throat had stopped bleeding weeks ago and while he had wanted to switch into a new suit, his lawyer, Maurice, had insisted that the inexpensive suit, riddled with the holes of a shotgun blast, would greatly help his case.

At the defendant's table, a group of nondescript lawyers and executives huddled together, whispering among themselves until one of them stood up.

Young, tall, and blonde, he gave the judge a porcelain smile. "Your honor, before we go any further, would you mind if we opened up the windows? The prosecution's insensitivity to the rest regarding his hygiene has caused everyone in the room great discomfort."

Hawthorne ducked his head and placed his hand on his forehead.

Maurice placed a hand on his soldier, careful not to apply to much pressure to the delicate tissues beneath his jacket.

Once the windows were opened, the defense began.

"Your honor, Hollywood has no problems admitting to the usage of zombies for entertainment purposes over the last century. Zombies were a thing of fancy, fiction, definitely not something to be taken seriously.

"When minority communities wanted proper representation, Hollywood buckled and gave it to them. When the LGBT crowd wanted proper representation, Hollywood buckled to them. When various religious groups, cultures, and ideologies wanted their stories told in a way they could appreciate, Hollywood was there providing them.

"You see, your honor, we believe wholeheartedly in the rights of people. The only issue is, Mr. Hawthorne is not a person." He jabbed an accusatory finger at the prosecution. "Mr. Hawthorne is an abomination upon this Earth!"

The defense seemed a little rattled, but the speaker continued. "I'm sorry if this offends you, but nothing could be more true. His continued existence is unnatural and a source of great distress towards the public-at-large and his loved ones.

"We must also not forget about what their diet mostly consists of. Do you want to know how Mr. Hawthorne got that gunshot wound? By attempting to consume his wife!"

The courtroom was in an uproar and the judge called everyone back to order. She turned, measuredly, toward the prosecution. "Does Mr. Hawthorne have anything to say to this?"

"Yes, your honor." Maurice stood, pulling a single sheet of paper up with him. "May I say beforehand that the way the defense has spoken is reprehensible. Terms like 'insensitive' are needlessly callous in regards to a person not physically capable of feeling. I didn't think it was appropriate to mock those with physical handicaps within the hallowed halls of a court of law. The opening of the windows was a low jab as well, being that he's been decomposing for three weeks now and has no control over his smell whatsoever.

"But, let's also not forget about you equating his plight with those of minorities and the LGBTQA+ crowd, which, by the way, funny how you forgot the QA+ there, which is vastly inappropriate and unfair for everyone involved."

Maurice drew in a deep breath and held up the paper.

"This was dictated to me by Mr. Hawthorne. It wasn't easy, but we managed to record his thoughts and feelings on the matter. And, if I may credit my client, his point exists within the first sentence of this dictation.

"My state of being is not an appropriate source from which you may extract entertainment.

"I lived my life as a good man, father, husband, and prominent member of my community. The members of the church always knew who to call when they needed help feeding the homeless. The community centers always knew how to get in touch when they needed an event planner.

"My life was good. Up until I was mugged at knife point. I let him have my wallet, money could be replaced, and he began to walk away. Still, it was frustrating, being stolen from. So, I swallowed my pain and said to the man, 'I forgive you.'

"He then turned around and slashed my throat. I was well-known in the community. Identifying me was simple, even without my ID handy.

"When you die, you have your deeds tallied. But, this takes a while so you're free to float around and talk to the other deceased. I was right in the middle of a conversation with H.G. Wells when I felt myself pulled back onto the mortal plane.

"In my own body, no less. I fled from whatever sorcerer had done this to me and made my way back home.

"I saw Rebecca. And Jacob and Abigail. And when my wife saw me, she was stunned.

"And when I went to hug her, she shot me.

"I wept for a few days, easy to do when you can't sleep, and came to terms with what I was.

"You filmmakers depict a class of people, and be assured it is a class as races and creeds can vary, to depict as violent, bloodthirsty, subhuman monsters. You say what we, lack souls, that we eat human flesh to feel alive again, that the first ones we come for are our loved ones, and that the only way to kill us, which you thoroughly encourage the spectators of your barbaric films to do, is to preform one of the most violent acts a person can; obliteration of the head.

"Zombies are an uncommon class of people, but a group worthy of consideration nonetheless. We come from all backgrounds and we didn't choose to be here. It could've easily been any of you standing here today. And because it's not, you just think of me as a smelly monster.

"I just want to hold my wife again."


End file.
